


Ingenious

by SailorChibi



Category: Sherlock Holmes (Downey films)
Genre: First Kiss, First Time, Holmes always gets himself into situations, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Water Torture, basically just a short smut fic, luckily Watson is there to help him out
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-26
Updated: 2013-01-26
Packaged: 2017-11-27 01:01:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,398
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/656286
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SailorChibi/pseuds/SailorChibi
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Holmes has been captured and is being tortured with water. Watson arrives to save the day and claim a reward.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ingenious

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own Sherlock Holmes.
> 
> For a [prompt](http://shkinkmeme.livejournal.com/9516.html?thread=23157804) on the SH Kink meme. I highly advise you to go look at the _delicious_ picture that was included. I'm not used to writing in the movieverse but I adore RDJ!Holmes and Law!Watson.

He struggles.

Useless, of course, but it is a reflex that he is unable to control. After (secondsminuteshours) his muscles are aching, _burning_ with fatigue, and he sinks. Again. His feet bump against the bottom of the tank and slide uselessly, unable to get any friction against the slippery material, and he jerks in weary alarm as his head goes under. The feel of the water closing over him is enough to incite fresh panic and he thrashes, mouth working against the urge to breathe in.

And then - 

Cold air brushes his hair, forehead, nose. He gasps, greedily sucking in air to the sound of mocking laughter. The drain in the bottom, so fortunately placed, has saved his life once more.

"You ready t'tell us what we wanna know?"

The voice is rough, low class, Scottish unless he's mistaken and he never is.

"All that I am prepared to tell you is that your partner is stealing from you," Sherlock Holmes says, his voice rough and rasped from far more swallowed water then is reasonably healthy. It's gratifying to see the ruddy colour of his captor's face as he turns on his partner, demanding to know whether or not that deduction is true. Their argument affords him a few precious seconds of reprieve.

He uses them well, considering the circumstances. Wrists tightly cuffed and then bound with rope behind his back; the double binding prevents an escape and his struggles have yielded deep wounds that burn from the salt water. He's stark naked and his cock and balls have been tied tightly, trapping him in a state of arousal. It hurt at first, a dull pervasive ache that was difficult to ignore, but the area has since grown numb. Even his legs and feet, bruised from striking the glass, no longer hurt. Pain and desire have drifted away in the wake of determination: he will win at this.

But in spite of his renewed resolution, no method of escape presents itself. The tank is fashioned from solid glass. There are only a few inches of space at the top. A crude pipe lets more water in from a tub on the second floor, and a small vent to the outside prevents him from suffocating unless they want him to drown. The water level can be raised or lowered with a switch. Ingenious, really. He suspects the two men have stolen the device from someone else because neither of them seems intelligent enough to have created and built it. That ingenuity may be his death.

Holmes turns his attention to them, watching as they bicker. One is short and heavy, out of breath after the simplest of tasks, but also malicious and cruel, his fat face lighting up every time he pulls that lever to allow more water in. He is the one shouting while his tall and thin partner tries unsuccessfully to defend himself. He's an invert, this partner, and when the cruel one is not watching he looks at Holmes's nudity hungrily.

"Enough!" The cruel one gives an angry bellow and backhands the partner. "I'll deal with the likes of you later. For now..." His hand reaches out, finds the lever. "You've got one last chance, Holmes."

Water pours down, soaking Holmes again and filling the tank nearly to the brim, leaving a scant inch of precious air. The breath he instinctively inhaled will not last long; his mind races, struggling for logic before the desperation of a drowning body can take over. And that in itself is torture, that he can lose himself so easily, give into their amusing little game and struggle desperately for their pleasure. In these moments he is not the great consulting detective, he is merely a dying man out of time.

The minutes tick by slow. They are patient in this alone, until his lungs throb with the need for air. He throws out a foot, fighting to reach the surface, but there's not enough space to kick and he can't get high enough, he _can't_ -

Relief.

"You gonna tell us now?"

The partner sighs, hands flexing greedily. "He's never gonna give in. Let's just kill him and be done with it."

Over their heads, he catches sight of a glint. Not much, terribly innocent as a matter of fact, unless you know what it means. Holmes knows. He draws himself up, spitting bile and water down his chest, and rasps, "No, I won't."

The cruel one's eyes narrow and he snarls, pulls again. Behind him the glint shifts and there is a muffled roar over the rushing water. He goes down in a pile of blood and the partner whirls to meet John Watson, fending off the raised cane with an unfortunately well placed arm. Watson punches him, one good blow to the left cheek, and doubles over at the return punch to his kidneys. He recovers quickly, tackling the partner to the ground, and they roll over and over until Holmes loses sight of them and has nothing more to focus on but his imminent demise.

The water is flooding in, bubbling over the top and running down the sides, but there is too much water for the contained space and the drain is closed, the vent too small. Holmes shuts his stinging eyes at the sight of the first crack. Even though he is no longer watching he can track the crack's progress up the glass, hair-thin and spreading rapidly under the pressure, until finally...

It bursts. Holmes stumbles from the force, nearly sliding forward with the flood, and is shocked and disturbed at the clothed, strangely warm arms that slide around his waist to steady him. He jerks, disoriented and panicked, thinking of the partner's hungry expression.

"Holmes, relax! It's me." Watson's voice surrounds him as he is pressed against a strong chest.

"W-Watson," Holmes whispers, shivering. "The partner - ?"

"Dead, Holmes. I shot him." Gently, Watson turns him around and looks down into Holmes's face. His expression darkens at whatever he sees. "Come here, away from the glass, and let me see."

In a corner of the room, away from the corpses, Watson helps him to sit. He fetches his cane and draws the sword to cut Holmes's hands, then searches the bodies for the handcuff key. His every movement is careful and tender as he helps Holmes to move his arms, stretching and rubbing blood back into the muscles.

"Thank you, old chap," says Holmes once he can speak. "You've commendable timing, as always."

"I nearly didn't." Watson's jaw tightens briefly and his hands flex on Holmes's biceps.

Holmes examines him for a few seconds. Then he says, "I've another ailment you can help with."

"Oh. Yes." Watson, to his credit, does not flinch away, but he does blush deeply as he unties the rope around Holmes's cock. The touches are light, fleeting, but send a welcome heat surging through Holmes. He watches Watson's face as he allows his hips to thrust forward just once, driving himself further into Watson's hand.

Watson pauses. He looks at Holmes.

And then, quite deliberately, he tightens his grip.

A quiet moan escapes Holmes. Now that he is out of danger he hardens quickly, blood rushing anew, and he welcomes the eager kiss Watson offers. He holds on to his friend as best he can with weakened muscles and lowers his head to Watson's shoulder when the kiss breaks. He is shivering for a different reason now, lust leaving him overwhelmed and at Watson's mercy.

"Watson," he gasps.

"I am here," Watson murmurs, unexpectedly sweet and soft, and Holmes shudders as he spends, back arching. He slumps against Watson in exhaustion and just barely feels the kiss brushed across his saturated hair.

They sit like this for a time, until Holmes's trembling stills. He brushes a hand against Watson's thighs curiously, but Watson stops him.

"Let's go home, Holmes. We'll send a note to Lestrade and then get you into a warm bath."

"I think I've had enough water for one day," Holmes replies.

Watson smirks as he removes his waistcoat and slides it around Holmes's shoulders. "Pity. I had thought I might join you."

It is Holmes's turn to pause. He clutches the waistcoat around him and looks up at Watson with an innocent expression. "Perhaps," he says, "just this once I could be persuaded to follow doctor's orders."


End file.
